Criminal Minds Seven Seconds Novels & Stories

I tried to pull the ring off, but it would not budge. The metal cut deep into my flesh. It was too small and too tight, like a circle of fire wrapped around my finger bone. Every twist sent a fresh wave of pain shooting up my arm. However, what made my eyes sting was not the physical pain. It was what this ring represented. This ring had been prepared seven years ago. Seven years ago, before I had ever shared his bed, before I had stitched his first wound, before I had surrendered every inch of my soul to him, he had already chosen another woman.

The cool night air bit at my skin as I stood on the curb, the neon signs of the mall blurring into streaks of artificial light. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the reflection in that three-way mirror—the way his hands, the same hands that had once traced the mark on my neck, held her with a desperate, hungry possessiveness. Sarah’s beat-up sedan screeched to a halt in front of me. She didn’t ask questions when I climbed in; she just saw my face and hit the gas.

He had lowered himself completely. "Don't be angry, all right, Ava?" Like a magic trick he produced a small bullet casing and waved it in front of me. "I chased you for seven whole years. When you agreed to be mine you gave me seven casings. You said if I ever made you angry, I'd get seven chances to make it right." He buried his face in my neck. "You know I was out of my mind happy that day. Take the casing. Don't be angry anymore."

Rannon said to no one in particular. “Listen fuckwads,” I walked to the mini bar in the corner and poured myself a drink. I didn’t say another word until I had taken my seat behind my desk trying to plaster on a professional face in place of my freshly, three times fucked face. “I want you all at your best tonight. These fuckers have caused enough trouble that we’re starting to get a bad rep. Club Seven has only been opened for a month and already we have had one shooting, a rape and a stabbing. That’s not a coincidence if you ask me.”

The seventh subject answered: I CANNOT GUARANTEE IT. The mother whispered: “Try.” Consent imperfect. Under extreme coercion. Limited. But hers. The seventh subject selected. Reality flickered. The father’s hand slipped. Gun fired into the ceiling. Police entered. Mother tackled daughter to floor. Father arrested. Everyone alive. Silence. Elena stared. The seventh subject sent: ONE. Not 4,812. One. Then another file opened. EVENT 2 The older Elena whispered: “This will take forever.” The seventh subject replied: YES. And for the first time, she did not sound afraid of forever.

Savannah’s breath caught. The floor shook again as the sirens grew louder. The countdown clock on the central monitor flashed in bright red digits. 02:22… 02:21… 02:20… Harrison’s voice boomed across the room. “You have two minutes until the world thinks you’re a criminal. I suggest you make peace with that.” Savannah looked around frantically. There had to be a way through the shutters. There had to be. Jackson slammed his fist again, but the steel didn’t even dent. “Savannah,” he called, breath sharp, “

"Or he doesn't know. Either way, one of them woke up three weeks ago. Broke out of its pod. Killed four guards. Escaped into the wilderness." My legs feel weak. I sit down hard. "Which one?" "Number Seven. Female. Approximately seventeen years old in appearance." Zara pulls out a tablet, showing me security footage. A pod shattered from the inside. Blue liquid everywhere. And in the corner, a figure moving with inhuman speed. "She's hunting." "Hunting what?" "Humans." Zara swipes through more images. News reports. Missing persons. Bodies found torn apart in ways that don't match any known animal. "She's been killing in nearby cities. Small towns. Picking off isolated victims. Learning. Adapt

Where there was bread now, only twenty-four hours before was soaked in my blood. “She’s lucky. That’s what he said. Had I not pushed her down when I did it wouldve struck her in the head.” My eyes shot to him, searching his own for understanding. I remembered so little of the accident itself. All I felt was his hand, pushing me into what he thought was safety and the sounds all around. I had not seen something he had. I had once again neglected to keep my eyes open. “And you’re sure you didn’t know the man you saw?” Maritzio’s voice is clipped and I realize this is not a welfare check, but an opportunity for public interragation.

“Sure, but if it doesn't come out you'll have to give me a new one” I don't get an answer and say goodbye with a shout so he can hear me. “I'm kidding. Goodbye, it was a pleasure” Now I head for the exit of the clinic to go home and hopefully get this stain out of my hair. It's important to clarify one thing, it's not me who goes to the psychologist, it's my brother Robert, he has clinical depression and generalized anxiety since 1 year ago. The reason is because he found his girlfriend (with whom they had been in a relationship for 5 years and with plans to get married), with another man in his bed and not exactly playing wrestling. They are both the same age, 26 years old.

My face felt permanently etched into a scowl from the morning's fury. "She pushed Reigna down a hole. She injured her. Then she played the victim for the cameras she arranged to be there." "And our job is to prove that arrangement," Marcus interjected, turning from the window. "But proving premeditation without direct evidence will be challenging sir. Her tears, her 'bruises' – they're powerful visual testimony." I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the desk. "She's meticulous, yes, but arrogant. She thinks she's untouchable." My mind raced, sifting through every detail of that horrifying morning. The mill, its decaying structure, the service tunnel.